Identity
by Chibi America
Summary: When a name could decide your future, the rules were simple. The name burned, it thrived, and it prospered. A Kirkland had to be tough and they had to be witty, all the while keeping a cocky stance and a coy attitude. There was no changing the muse, it is what it is. And there were never any regrets. USUK


**Hello, loves! I came up with this idea the other night and I'm going to work hard on this one. It's just a simple little USUK story.**

**Arthur is twenty-three and Alfred is twenty-two. Just my own preference for this story. I didn't want a huge age gap so these were the ages I chose. **

~x-X-x~

**I DO NOT OWN HETALIA OR IT'S CHARACTERS! ****(Axis-Powers, World Series, The Beautiful World, The manga, etc.) **Just my own writing. All credit for _Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya 2006-present._

~x-X-x~

_Arthur Kirkland._ Catchy, isn't it? Though the young man whom owned such a title claimed to be at it's mercy. There were a handful of expectations that the whole family lived by. And they were simple: The name burned, it thrived, and it prospered. A Kirkland had to be tough and they had to be witty, all the while keeping a cocky stance and a coy attitude. There was no changing the muse, it is what it is.

In other words, they lived under a rough name. They were certainly the type with tough edges. Most grew up into crime and went through life with a forceful waltz.

Though, this particular Kirkland boy did thoroughly believe that a change would one day be evident; if only he wasn't held in place by the thumbs of his brothers. They were a wicked, foul lot if he had to say so himself. Dirty and stingy, loud and conceited. The perfect description for a trio of foxes.

Just a bunch of no good cheaters and rotten liars. And _he _was expected to be like _them. _No matter where Arthur turned the Kirkland name was there to be abused. And abused it was. No one wanted a Kirkland to work for them—No-no-no, they were all scammers. The Briton had heard it a thousand times over and he truly didn't want to hear it again.

His surname just simply belonged to too many a dodgy and uneducated bloke. It was as if his whole life had been chosen for him and he had no possible chance of breaking away from the bond of bad karma.

Perhaps this was why he was currently wandering the streets in god knows where. All he knew was that he was still in borderline London, but there was no telling his exact location. It didn't matter anyway; now he was just another low-class, homeless scumbag. It wasn't like he had a home to return to. His brothers had probably stopped worrying about his whereabouts by now.

He simply sat down on the curb and sighed. It was getting dark and chilly out and he wasn't at all dressed properly for cold weather.

"Lovely. Is there anything else you'd like to throw at me, God? I'm waiting." Arthur suddenly found himself shouting a bit louder than he had wanted to.

The people moving around him walked farther away and he hung his head in shame. _Yes, go on away; all of you. You would anyway if you knew who I am.'_

If Arthur were to be truthful, he'd say that he had always wanted to be a professor. Not some unfortunate, broke bastard that doesn't even have a mother to turn to. He loved to learn and his marks were very high all throughout secondary school. But with such a name, it seemed like all of his teachers put a despicable label on his forehead. The second he accidentally spoke out of turn was the moment he got horrible glares from generally all of his instructors, no matter how thought out the apology for such minor disrespect happened to be.

It had been that way since Nursery school. The cursed surname followed him from dawn to dusk, place to place, and everything in between. Getting on anyone's good side required his last name to be anonymous. It was the only way. Of course every time he tried to dodge telling someone he was a Kirkland, life made sure to bite him in the ass later on. He was convinced his existence was just a bad omen within itself.

_'Come on, lil' Artie. Man up. 'Yer a Kirkland and 'ya better bet 'yer tough as nails. Just like the rest of 'em.' _Arthur vaguely recalled his older brother, Allistor's "motivational" words from years ago. He had been around six and had fallen on the pavement, scraping his knee. It must have been back when his family thought he was going to be the golden boy. And they once did, but their hopes were trampled upon as he grew older. Rather than the aggressive and dominant trouble maker they had expected; he was a quiet, shy little one with these ungodly caterpillars for eyebrows, in which he never did grow into.

And what a scrawny thing he had turned out to be, too. You'd think at age twenty-three one would have taken advantage of the testosterone, but it appeared that he wasn't getting any bulkier anytime soon. He was short, lanky, and skinny. Not quite bony, just albeit chubby and squishy in the face.

Not at all the dove of masculine tenacity.

"Might as well move out of the way of all these people that mean something to society." Arthur mumbled softly to himself, sticking his hands in his pockets and standing up. Though he wasn't expecting to come to an abrupt halt, smack dab into another's chest.

The figure he had bumped into seemed flustered by the incident, his face flaring up in a profuse shade of humiliation. "Oh god, are you alright? I-I didn't mean to crash into you. See I...I don't know where I am and," he fumbled with the collar of his shirt, "never mind, umm...you're alright, right?

The scruffy blond only cared to meet eyes with the man for a brief flash. _Peachy. God damn tourist. _He could tell by the Boston accent. "I'm perfectly fine," Arthur spoke snappily and dusted the imaginary dirt from his shoulder before stomping off as soon as he could, "good day to you!" He had no time in the world for a dumb ass foreigner. It was cold and he needed to find where he was going to sleep tonight. This man was none of his concern, he had enough worries as is.

"W-wait! I'm sorry, did I make you mad?"

Arthur stopped and turned around slowly, just to be surprised that the vacationist even bothered to continue a conversation with him. Not replying would just be too rude, even for him. "No, I was already mad. Just continue doing whatever it was you were doing."

"Come on! I'm lost! Could you just tell me where I'm at or somethin'?" His face seemed to contort into a pitiful countenance, one that was obviously annoyed. The Briton assumed he had been aimlessly wandering for quite some time.

Nonetheless, the bloke's horrible grammar was beginning to nerve Arthur, but it wasn't the first time he had heard it. Just a different accent, that's all. "Can I just give you a word of advice?" He had an idea. Maybe, for once he could live up to his ancestors. He obviously had nothing else coming for him in life, might as well.

So he walked up to the tall American and thumped him on the nose. It wasn't hard, nor was it assault. Just a silly way to get his attention. "Do you know what my last name is?"

The tourist's reaction was to instantly cover his face up with his hands and shake his head. "I just bumped into you! 'Course not!"

_Idiot. _"Well, it's Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland. And let me tell you something; I don't know where I am either, nor do I ever expect to."

The poor thing's face looked nothing but confused, "Oh, I'm Alfred. Uh...Jones. And...like, what do you mean by that?"

"Oh you imbecile," Arthur did nothing but tisk, "consider your ignorance bliss."

When he was told those words, Alfred forced his hands to his sides to stay idle. "Are you saying I'm stupid? Please, erm...Mr. Kirkland, don't take it like that. I'm just really nervous. I only wanted to know why you said you'll never know where you are."

A long silence was followed by this confirmation, and Arthur let out a sigh at the question. Meanwhile, Alfred just stood there as stiff as that one fence post that was taller than all the others. "I'd appreciate it if you just called me Arthur. I have my reasons, I just...I don't think I should be talking about this to strangers," more like, strangers whom didn't have _a clue _why_, _"but I'm not allowed to know where I am. And I don't even think I necessarily—need to know."

Alfred got this strange, serious look on his face. It was then that his nervous tendencies seemed to perish and his next sentence was a stern and straight forward question, "I want you to tell me where you were going. When I ran into you, where were you about to go?"

"I...don't—wait..." Arthur was about to say it before be snapped, looking at him with a glare, "it's none of your bloody business!"

"Arthur, come on, tell me."

Arthur narrowed his eyes and whipped his body around. He was about to take a run for it when his wrist was seized and he found he wasn't moving any farther down the street. He trembled ever so slightly as if he was getting prepared to be beaten.

"You weren't going anywhere, were you? You don't even know, do you?" Alfred asked crisply. It seemed that all it took was a serious matter to make him open up. And it was the most confusing thing to Arthur.

In fact, it was now Arthur whom was feeling neurotic. _Who in the hell cares for some pitiful guy on the street? Why won't he just let go? _These questions and more shot through his brain and he shuddered._ Doesn't he know who I am? Who he's talking to? _"I...I just need to go, okay? I suggest you unhand me and pick up your things."

Arthur gave a breath and the words escaped his lips, "Never remember my face, and whatever you do...forget the name Kirkland." He then trashed his wrist free and dashed in the opposing direction, hoping grace would save his momentum.

_No, I don't know where I'm going and I doubt I'll ever know where I'm heading. But, god be damned if I'm sharing that with you._

He was never known for his speed, though he was pretty sure he hadn't once run so quickly. And in his rush he found the air seeping through the fabric of his shirt, chilling his skin. It was difficult to pay attention as his focus was shifted to nothing but the wind against his body. It only took a minute to find his face squashed against the pavement when he lost his balance.

Arthur had to fight back his tears from the impact. After all, he was a Kirkland and The Kirklands didn't cry. Not now, not ever.

He was too embarrassed to get up and simply lie on the ground like a limp, wet dog for a minute, then slowly he brought his palms beneath his chest and went to push up. As he supported himself in an attempt to stand, his legs gave out and in a wobbly motion he crashed into the grass seeing nothing but black.

~x-X-x~

When Arthur had woken up, he didn't open his eyes, nor did he move. He was expecting to sit up in the dirt and most likely surrounded by frantic people who were wondering if he was dead. Or perhaps in the hospital if someone had called an ambulance. The thought caused the Briton to groan out loud; he hated hospitals. They were cold, white, and made him shiver...you could feel the death everywhere. And surly someone would give him one of those pompous glares he saw all the time once a nurse found out his name.

Didn't anyone look at how his record was clear? That he wasn't a convict? _Oh, please, God...anything but a medical centre. I only passed out from the grief. _

He suddenly felt something touch his shoulder and within an instant his eyes were snapped wide open and his back pressed firmly upon a nearby wall—_h-huh? Was this a legitimate bed he was lying on? _

"Woah, dude. Did I scare you?" Arthur was greeted by a face that he really didn't want to see again. Though the other's eyes didn't seem to be focus on him...but something in his hand.

_Hold up a minute. Is that my iPod? _"No. But I'd like to know where I am and why you have my things in your possession."

"Huh?" Alfred looked up and flashed Arthur a toothy grin at his disheveled posture. "You're in my apartment. And you dropped this when you fell down outside. But hey, I've got to hand it to you. For someone that dresses like a teacher, you listen to some pretty loud music."

Arthur looked down at his button up dress shirt and black pants, his gaze shifting down to his feet. As he examined them he felt that his combat boots kind of took away from the classy feel. He was a bit punkish on the inside, but god knows the terror that came from dressing how he wanted. People _judged _and they _oppressed. _Arthur's mind had been forced to live behind the idea that oppression was the worst he had to live with.

Well, he did happen to believe in looking nice and his attire was very important when it came to first impressions. But it was all part of his hopes of being _different._ It wasn't himself, nothing had ever been about being himself. It was one of the many things he wasn't allowed to be. He was a mere painting of his ancestry's shadow and it was as elementary as that.

"I like my music loud so I can't hear my life crashing and burning." Arthur mumbled. It may have been metaphorical, but then again, it seemed surreal to his current situation.

"And apart from that, I'm leaving," The blond then fumbled with the hem of his shirt before scrambling out of Alfred's bed. Once in a standing position, he followed suit towards the exit, "Adieu."

He couldn't stay here. He just...he couldn't. He didn't belong around normal people who got to live life to it's fullest.

"Wait up, don't leave! Where are ya' gonna' go?" Alfred inquired when the iPod was snatched out of his hand and the grumpy man began to storm off.

"That, sir...is none of your business."

Alfred stood up and followed him as soon as he realised. He didn't understand why Arthur wanted to be alone on the streets. "I don't want you to leave if you don't have anywhere to go. That's not right."

"You don't know anything about where I'm about to go."

"Yes I do. You even said you ran away."

Arthur's eyes narrowed at the clarification, he wasn't about to deal with this. "I said goodbye." He affirmed, turning on his heel and went to open the door to the tourist's apartment. As his palm lie down on the doorknob, he briefly wondered why a tourist have such a large flat like this. Was he staying long term?

Before he could snap out of his thought, he found his wrist seized like it had been outside, though this time he was tugged backwards towards Alfred. "Okay, since you have somewhere to go, why don't you let me drive you there? I bet it's a long walk, and it's dark out."

Obviously Alfred wasn't an ignorant person, it appeared he had some sort of idea. And one that Arthur knew would have to pretty slick to get out of, or the truth would be leaked out. "I suppose that would be okay." He answered hesitantly.

"Good," Alfred grabbed a sweatshirt from atop his dresser and threw it at Arthur's chest, "wear this. It's going to start snowing sometime soon and you don't have on enough layers."

The Briton put on what he was given without saying anything. He had clothes—lots of clothes—but they were at his house. And he wasn't planning on returning to that hell hole till the day he died, maybe not even then. He'd much prefer rotting in a ditch. "Fine."

Alfred gave him a nod and scooped up his car keys and opened the door himself. He waved to the dirty blond, "Come on, grumpy British dude."

"Damn American fool..." Arthur muttered as he followed him out the door. He had a horrible feeling this just wasn't going to go well.

_But could it be better than sleeping against some dodgy building all night? Maybe. _

~x-X-x~

**Alright, this is just an idea I came up with. I'm not particularly excited about this chapter, nor do I feel it's very good. It just seems slightly cheesy. I don't know...and I need to get better at writing dialogue.**

**Anyway, review if you wouldn't mind taking the time ^^ I need all the critic I can get.**

**•**~Chibi America~**•**


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